


spring comes to caldera

by sinkburrito



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Sokka, Firelord Zuko (Avatar), M/M, Post-Canon, The Turtleduck Pond, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, azula went to therapy and she is going to weaponize that, distilled essence of pining, excessive descriptions of zuko's eyes, yes its another firelord/ambassador fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkburrito/pseuds/sinkburrito
Summary: “So, I was thinking. Once it’s spring and some of the sea ice begins to melt, I’m going to go back to the South Pole,” Sokka says with an air of faux nonchalance that has Zuko immediately suspicious, probably from something similar usually being used to prompt ideas that did not tend to end favorably for him.-----------or: sokka and zuko dance (literally) around their feelings, things that they want, and duty, while springtime brings change and new life.(hi zukka nation please have this giant mound of pining that i whipped up)
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 168
Kudos: 1100





	1. sokka

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the last season of she-ra, the dance scene in emma (2020) and all those post-botfa fics from the hobbit fandom where bilbo is going to leave erebor in the spring and thorin has to get his shit together before he goes. no i have not read the comics or seen lok and no i do not know how fire nation government works. this is for pining and pining only.

_“Don’t you get it? I love you! So please, just this once, stay!” -- Catra_

_“What do you want when this is all over? … You’re worth more than what you can give to other people. You deserve love, too.” -- Mara_

_( She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)_

“So, I was thinking. Once it’s spring and some of the sea ice begins to melt, I’m going to go back to the South Pole,” Sokka says with an air of faux nonchalance that has Zuko immediately suspicious, probably from something similar usually being used to prompt ideas that did not tend to end favorably for him. Zuko raises his head from the treaties and regulations and documents that are splayed across the long, ornate table to give Sokka a suspicious stare. The Firelord’s eyes are ringed with perpetual bags, despite Sokka’s attempts to lessen them over the years, and yet the irises retain their bright golden hue, glowing embers a gleaming warmth that Sokka has not seen the equal of in his three years in the Fire Nation.  
  


It’s a quiet night, tonight. Sokka has grown to treasure the long nights spent poring over Fire Nation legislature with Zuko as part of his job as Ambassador, as well as his own duties as friend. Sokka will… Sokka will miss this.

“Oh,” Zuko says. “When will you be back?” The candlelight flickers, reflected in those warm gold eyes, and Sokka almost bites back what must be said, but said it must be. 

“Maybe in a few years, for a visit,” Sokka admits. The candle flares up. “I would be going… going back permanently.” His heart clenches painfully at Zuko’s look of confusion and hurt. “I’m going to be Chief one day, and I need to be with my people. I have to start preparing, and I can’t do that from the Fire Nation anymore.” Sokka feels suddenly defensive. “I-- It’s not like I could just stay here forever, y’know? And I have- I have a responsibility! To--”

“I understand,” Zuko says through gritted teeth. The gentle and unreserved tiredness that he had allowed himself to show before is gone, and now Zuko sits tensed and still, dissolving any signs of weakness. He glares down at his papers as if they are the ones who had given him the news, clenches the pen in his hand with a trembling force. 

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says, even though he promised himself not to. 

Zuko stands abruptly, pushing his chair back with an awkward screech. “Excuse me.” He leaves the room without another word in a whirl of red and gold and black. The candle extinguishes itself, leaving Sokka in darkness.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Winter in Caldera City can hardly be called winter except for the fact that it is an allotted period of time on a calendar. The city is perpetually warm, perhaps from the continuous firebending of its inhabitants, or maybe just from its geographical position near the equator. Winter brings no snow nor ice nor cold winds, only cool breezes that are merely a brief respite to the Water Tribe Ambassador as a relief from the heat. The air is colder and drier, and Sokka privately thinks that this is the only time that Caldera City is inhabitable. Now, those breezes are more and more rare, and Sokka can sense the coming of spring. 

Sokka longs for ice floes and biting winter winds and the feeling of snowflakes on his tongue. He can easily admit that his three years in the Fire Nation have left him homesick for his native land, and yet he could also just as easily bear many more years in Caldera. The beauty of the fire blossom trees and grassy mountains he can also find, and nothing more soothing than the turtleduck pond in Ursa’s garden. 

Zuko had shown it to him in the first month after Ozai’s defeat. The shaggy-haired new Firelord had pulled him aside and led him to this little sanctuary from the political duties of the sovereign of a nation and an ambassador. Ever since, Sokka has known where to find him when he is overwhelmed. 

Zuko sits on the ground, and Sokka can spy his bare feet poking out of his robe, which must be grass stained now. The turtleducks glide serenely across the still surface of the water, and Zuko tosses little pieces of bread to them, which plop into the water and ripple across the whole surface. The presence of the ducks is a reminder that spring is continuing its hastening, the unstoppable juggernaut that it is. 

Sokka sits beside him wordlessly, prepared with his own store of bread. Zuko’s hair, now long enough to stretch midway down his back, is beginning to escape the topknot. Sokka looks away towards the turtleducks. 

“When do you plan to leave?” Zuko asks, in his raspy voice that Sokka knows so well. He does not think he will ever forget it, but he knows that no one ever expects to forget things that were once dear to them. In a few years, this will be another distant memory that he cannot quite place, like how he tries to remember his mother’s face and only finds a vague warm feeling and an image of Katara. Something inside Sokka twists at this concept, like squeezing the water from a towel.

Sokka shrugs uncomfortably. “A few months. I’ve written Dad already. The waters should be passable by then.”

“You’ll take one of my ships,” Zuko decides. He feeds another turtleduck without looking at Sokka.

“Dad says he’ll send a Water Tribe ship to get me,” Sokka says. Zuko’s brows dip into a frown, but he focuses still on the turtleducks.

“Tell him otherwise,” Zuko insists. “I’ll--” He finally looks up to catch Sokka watching him, and Sokka’s stomach swoops painfully at the earnest and determined look in his golden eyes. “I’ll see you off.”

“Okay,” Sokka finds himself agreeing, unbidden. Zuko swallows, and Sokka follows the bob of his throat. 

“I… understand. You have a duty to your people and your life is there. The South Pole is your home. I never… I should never have expected you to stay long,” Zuko says slowly, and Sokka knows it’s the closest he’s going to get to an apology.

“I’ll write,” Sokka promises softly. Zuko nods. Sokka throws another piece of bread to the turtleducks, watching the ripples spread across the pool. Sokka leans slightly against Zuko: an unspoken reassurance, _I won’t forget you._ Zuko’s posture relaxes minutely and he allows himself to press back lightly against Sokka’s side. Sokka breathes a tiny sigh of relief. 

As Sokka watches Zuko feed the turtleducks out of the corner of his eye, he strengthens his resolve to leave. _This_ is exactly why he can no longer stay in the Fire Nation: this overwhelming urge to brush the hair out of Zuko’s face, to bury his face in the crook of his neck, to brush his finger along the scarred skin. There are many practical and logical reasons to oppose a union between the two of them, reasons that Sokka constantly recites to himself, but they do not seem to hold up against the soft turn of Zuko’s mouth by the turtleduck pond or the brush of their hands as they reach for bread. And this is precisely why Sokka must leave, so he can look upon the reasons with an impartial and logical eye. _One_ of them has to be the thinker, the strategist, the one who doesn’t leap headfirst and ask questions later, and it always had to be Sokka. It’s up to Sokka to save them both from needless pain and stop this -- whatever this is -- before it starts.

Alone in his room afterwards, Sokka stares at the red walls and begins the list he knows by heart.

  1. Zuko is the Firelord and needs to have an heir. 
  2. He also needs to marry Fire Nation nobility to please his court and subjects.
  3. Sokka is going to be Chief of the Southern Water Tribe one day and he cannot do this from the Fire Nation.
  4. The Fire Nation would see their union as another way to undermine Zuko and say that he is unfit to lead.
  5. Sokka likes to mouth off too much in meetings and none of the advisors like him.
  6. Sokka is not a Fire Nation citizen.
  7. Zuko did not make a good first impression on Dad or Gran-Gran… or Katara, or anyone really. He would feel awkward and out of place in the South Pole.
  8. Zuko is a firebender and is too hot to be next to for too long. Caldera City is already too hot when Sokka has an empty space next to him at night.
  9. Zuko does not appreciate Sokka’s good taste in poetry.
  10. Zuko’s hair is too long and difficult to maintain. Sokka’s fingers would always get tangled in it, and then nothing would get done.
  11. Sokka does not look good in red. (However, Zuko looks good in blue.)



It is never very convincing, but Sokka has faith that, in time, he will be able to see the reason behind his statements. He is doing the right thing, he thinks, in leaving the Fire Nation. Though it hurts him now, it will be better in the long run. His feelings for Zuko are a little bit like the time he stepped on a thorn in the Earth Kingdom; he shrieked in a definitely manly way when it happened, but continued to hobble around with it in his foot until they decided to make camp. He refused to let Katara pull it out for a while, and it hurt horribly when she did. Finally, once she’d pulled it out, she was able to work her healing magic, and Sokka soon forgot about the thorn in favor of thinking about dinner. This is Sokka taking out the thorn. He hopes the pain will be worth it.

* * *

  
  
  


Sokka forgets himself, sometimes. A lot of the time. It’s not his fault; Zuko is just so stupidly pretty and funny and kind and _perfect_ that Sokka just. He stares a little too long, sits a little too close, lingers a little too long in doorways. He hopes that if Zuko notices, he chalks it up to Sokka being reluctant to leave and not something that’s been building inside of him for years. 

Case in point: Zuko is arguing with his advisors (again) and refusing to relinquish his position on lowering tariffs on the Earth Kingdom, despite it being less profitable to the Fire Nation.

“We _desecrated_ huge swaths of their land--” Zuko yells.

“That was three years ago!” An advisor protests.

“It will take more than three years to rebuild! Yes, there are towns once again and they have started farming, but it will take much more time for the Earth Kingdom to recover the state they once had! Until then, they simply cannot afford to pay this tax on Fire Nation imports!” Zuko yells back, louder, as he leans forward out of his seat. The advisor reels back in fear and does not protest again.

Zuko clears his throat and settles back into his seat. He’s picked up the habit of letting smoke escape from his nostrils whenever he gets angry ever since he learned firebending from the dragons, and he shows it now as he snorts awkwardly. “We’ll lower the agricultural tariffs,” he decrees adamantly. This is no strange occurrence, except that usually his advisors will put up more of a fight; he did pick them out himself. Yet, today, they seem to be tired -- Zuko’s temper has been flaring up more often lately. Sokka tries to ignore that he is the source of Zuko’s stress, and he hates to see it manifest in his frayed temper. He hates what he knows he is doing to him, and he almost wants to leave at next light just to save Zuko the pain. 

“Well? Any more arguments to be made?” Zuko snaps. He is blindingly regal and assured and Sokka wants to never leave his side. 

“I don’t look good in red,” Sokka mumbles as a reminder to himself of his little list. Unfortunately, this comes at a time when the whole table is silent.

“What?” an advisor dares to ask.

“Yes, you do,” Zuko refutes instantly, then blinks. “Um. I don’t see what that has to do with the situation?” Zuko squints at Sokka in confusion.

“Just talking to myself,” Sokka says, mortified beyond belief. 

This seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Zuko’s confusion shifts to hurt. “If you find the session so boring, Ambassador Sokka, that you are planning your outfits, then feel free to leave,” Zuko says icily. 

“I-- No, I’m fine,” Sokka stammers. He doesn’t speak again after that.

  
  
  


It is a quiet night, tonight. They tend to have a lot of those, and they are no less precious for being so numerous. Zuko props his arm up on the table and rests his head in it, trying valiantly to stay awake. They must finish work on this treaty for the meeting in the morning. It goes unsaid that the reason the timetable was moved up was to finish it before Sokka leaves. Zuko’s cheek slides against his palm as he slumps towards the table. Sokka hides a smile behind the papers.

Zuko’s hair refuses to be tamed, even by the mark of the Firelord, and his hair fans loosely across his face and the pin falls to the table with a clatter. Zuko startles, jerking upright at the noise. Sokka cannot repress a snorting laugh, and he reaches forwards for the pin. 

“You big dummy,” he chastises affectionately, “Will you ever learn to do your hair right?” 

Before he can realize what he’s doing, Sokka is reaching over to pull Zuko’s hair upwards and form a tight topknot. Sokka focuses resolutely on Zuko’s hair, setting it with the Firelord pin firmly. When Sokka leans back, Zuko is staring at him with wide molten gold eyes and lips slightly parted. A pink flush spreads high across his cheeks and Sokka finds a distant humor as he remembers how easily the Firelord blushes and how clear it is across his pale skin. But this is no longer humorous as he looks upon the portrait across from him and Sokka has to press his nails sharply into his palms to stop himself from leaning forward and stealing a kiss from Zuko. It’s quite a struggle; every feature of Zuko’s face seems to be screaming at Sokka to give in to the beauty that sits before him.

Sokka leans back with a nervous laugh instead. “Who’s gonna take care of you when I’m gone, huh?” he remarks. Zuko’s open expression shutters closed and he presses his lips into a firm line. Sokka realizes his mistake immediately, but nothing can be done now. Their little bubble has shattered with the looming knowledge that they will not last. 

“I can take care of myself,” Zuko asserts rigidly. He snaps his gaze back to the task at hand and stews in silence. Sokka follows his lead, not wanting to disturb the tenuous peace. 

  
  
  
  


Zuko has decided to send Sokka off with all the pomp and circumstance deserved of a respected ambassador, which means that there will be a party. Sokka is no stranger to Fire Nation soirees, having had his fair share of planning them with Zuko. Since Zuko’s ascension to the throne, he has tried to restore many of the traditional customs that were lost during the reigns of Sozin, Azulon, and Ozai, not the least of which included the traditional dances for every occasion. It is somewhat of a tradition now, for Zuko and Sokka to sneak off to the empty ballroom the night before the party with scrolls full of dances they were meant to have learnt weeks before and stumble through the motions. 

This night is different, and Sokka feels it in the way that Zuko is hesitant to touch him. He mourns already for a loss which has yet to happen, and Sokka cannot blame him. But it is too late now to have doubts, and the party is set for the night before Sokka departs.

When the true festivities begin, Zuko does not quite avoid him, yet does not pay him any special attention either. Both of them make the rounds required of them and converse with the diplomats and scholars that must be conversed with. At one point, Sokka catches a glimpse of Zuko talking to Mai, a soft smile on his face. Sokka pushes down acidic feelings of jealousy and looks away. Mai would be good for him, Mai would _fit._ Mai can be what he needs when Sokka cannot. He turns away and focuses on his diplomatic duties. But this is a party! And the Firelord and honored Ambassador must begin the first dance. 

Sokka takes Zuko’s hand gingerly, savoring the warmth of it. It’s a stiff, formal dance that has them apart most of the time, until about midway through when Zuko’s hand settles on his waist and suddenly he is right against his chest. If Sokka thought Zuko’s hand was warm, it was nothing compared to the heat he can feel radiating off of Zuko’s body. Sokka focuses on the steps of the dance: _one-two-three, one-two-three,_ until he can think of nothing else. The sweet string melody serves as his compass as he focuses on the space above Zuko’s shoulder and resolves to not mess this up. Finally, the song ends, and Sokka dares to look up at Zuko’s face. The aureate eyes he loves so well flicker up to meet Sokka’s own, and for a moment, Sokka understands. Zuko looks… well, he looks _lost_ , but there’s a tenderness there that makes Sokka _ache_. He looks exactly how Sokka feels right now, and Sokka realizes that maybe Zuko is in love with him. 

There’s nothing for it, of course. Though Zuko might love him, Sokka still has a responsibility to his own people and a duty to fulfill. And Sokka doesn’t really belong in Caldera City, anyways. It doesn’t matter that he knows most of the guards by name by now, or that the street vendors know to look for him because of his bad jokes and willingness to buy (and access to the royal coffers doesn’t hurt), or that he gets drinks with some of Zuko’s advisors and other ambassadors on a weekly basis. It’s all just temporary. Sokka has a _duty_ to the people of the Southern Water Tribe, and a few years in the Fire Nation cannot override that. Even if Zuko loves him, _one_ of them has to be pragmatic and make the right choice, even if it hurts. Sokka drops one of Zuko’s hands and looks away. 

The next tune begins and they breathe fully for the first time since the dance began, and Sokka is gratified to see a softening in Zuko as he relaxes, finally. The next tune is more upbeat, and Sokka keeps his hand entwined with Zuko’s as he pulls him across on the dance floor, their quota for traditional dance filled. Zuko groans in embarrassment as Sokka begins to dance like he would at any gathering of friends and hides his flushed cheeks with a hand to the face as he refuses to watch Sokka dance. He doesn’t pull his other hand out of Sokka’s grip, though, so Sokka counts it as a success. 

Zuko soon gives in as Sokka pulls him into a more structured folk dance that the both of them learned on an excursion to the Earth Kingdom that involves a lot of stomping and feet tapping the ground, occasionally grabbing drinks from wait staff that pass them by from time to time. Sokka’s never seen Zuko so freely laughing and smiling, red high in his cheeks and hair hastily tied back with Sokka’s tie, slipping loose with ease. Not that Zuko never cuts loose -- no, he has certainly come a long way from the awkward and repressed boy he was at the start of his reign, but this is a kind of reckless abandon, likely helped along by the several glasses of rice wine that Zuko has been downing left and right. Unknown to most, Zuko is a weepy drunk, although, or maybe because, crying is something he never does when he’s sober. Actually, there is an important distinction to be made; Zuko, who has a tendency to cry when drunk, never cries at Sokka’s side. Sokka’s presence will normally be enough to soothe him into subsiding his tears. This is also related to the fact that Zuko tended to not drink at formal functions.

Tonight, however, Sokka cannot be parted with him for the world. Every second spent at Zuko’s side tonight is another to treasure as a memory after he leaves. Zuko without inhibitions is certainly a beautiful sight, but something in it worries Sokka, with the way the joyful laughter seems to cover something hysterically morose, and it seems as if Zuko simply does not care anymore about keeping his composure as Firelord. He is practically glued to Sokka’s side now, barely coherent, devoted to retaining Sokka’s attentions on him and maintaining the dance. 

“Okay, buddy, I think it’s time for bed,” Sokka remarks as an out of breath Zuko crashes into him at the close of the song. It’s not that late at all, but Zuko seems to be spiralling wildly out of control and Sokka thinks it for the best that Zuko should quit the party now. 

“Noooo,” Zuko sighs, wrapping his arms around Sokka’s neck. Sokka pries them off of him, but supports the Firelord with a one-armed carry. 

“Oof,” Sokka huffs as Zuko leans into him. The Firelord _giggles_ and leans more of his weight onto Sokka, who is supporting his arm across his shoulders. Zuko’s cheeks are flushed red with wine and cheer, and a few strands of unruly hair escape his topknot. Zuko laughs with joy as he shoves his face into Sokka’s neck. Sokka chokes on his own spit at the sudden warmth of it and hurries the inebriated monarch to his own rooms. He gives the guards an awkward nod as he drags Zuko into his bedroom.

“Here ya go, buddy,” Sokka announces as he deposits Firelord Zuko into his bed. Zuko moans into the pillows and refuses to move. Sokka feels his face heat up at the noise. He begins to walk away when Zuko flops over noisily and groans.

“Sokka?” he calls, and Sokka pauses and turns around. To his horror, Zuko’s eyes are filled with tears as he sits up in bed and reaches out to Sokka. “Are you leaving? Don’t go. I miss you already, and you aren’t even gone, but you are, you’re going all the way to the South Pole, and you’re never coming back, and I never even got to say--”

“Zuko!” Sokka cuts him off sharply, even as his heart jumps at the prospect of what Zuko had been about to say. “Zuko, you’re drunk,” he sighs tiredly, because he does not know what else to say.

“So?” Zuko persists. His eyes, wide and hopeful in the moonlight, honeyed and sweet, gleaming golden, blown wide with wine and dancing. Before Zuko had come to them in humility and repentance, Sokka had always thought that Zuko’s eyes were golden for greed and power, the color of a prideful and mad dynasty that he would not regret burning. Later, when he had returned from the Sun Warriors and Zuko and Aang had demonstrated their new fire, Sokka had seen the same fire in Zuko’s eyes. Not golden with avarice but golden for warmth and life and courage. Now, they are golden like sunlight in early mornings, soft and familiar. Sokka wants so badly to give in to them, to lie in the sun’s warm rays and be content.

“So don’t say anything you’ll regret,” Sokka continues, tearing his gaze away from Zuko’s eyes. He looks out the window instead, taking a quiet strength in the moon, who has never let him down before. _Help me to do the right thing_ , he begs her mentally.

He had known Zuko was a weepy drunk, of course, from several events like this before, but never before has it hurt him so to see Zuko cry, especially when Sokka, whose presence usually dispelled all ills, was with him. 

Zuko continues to stare at him with watery eyes, sufficiently censured into silence for a moment. “Please,” he begs quietly into the silence, “Just this once; stay.”

Sokka feels a lump in his throat form, and he nods as he cannot find the words. He returns to Zuko’s side and sits gingerly beside him on the large bed. Zuko exhales gustily, then collapses amongst the pillows. He is asleep within seconds. Despite this, Sokka cannot bring himself to leave, not when Zuko has just asked him to stay. He lies down at the edge of the bed and stares at the ceiling, heart pounding in his chest. A warm arm snakes around his waist, accompanied by loud snoring. Sokka resolves himself to get no sleep as he turns to lie on his side. The moon shines patiently. _Just this once,_ he promises her.

  
  


Evidently, he fails in this resolution, because the next thing he knows, the sun is peeking in through the windows and he feels surprisingly well rested. The arm remains around his waist, and Sokka feels warm and comfortable. Then he remembers where he is and he disentangles himself and rolls to the other side of the bed, ignoring the loss he feels as Zuko’s arm slips from around his waist. 

“I should, uh, go get ready. My ship leaves at noon,” Sokka says, not looking behind him as he slides on his shoes. He knows Zuko wakes with the sun. 

“Get out.” Zuko says, low and resolute.

Sokka turns to look now, finding Zuko sitting up and looking more disheveled than ever and glaring at him.

“What?”

“Get. Out.” Zuko repeats, golden eyes narrowed and fists clenched around the sheets. Sokka stares back dumbly, confused by the sentiment and captivated by the rare sight of Zuko in the light of dawn, bleary-eyed and warm. “GET OUT!!!” Zuko screams, and smoke flares from his nostrils. Sokka scrambles backwards and stumbles out the door, running for his own quarters and not slowing his dead sprint until he is safely in his own bed. Sokka takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing. He waits until his heart is not trying to leap out of his chest anymore, then forces himself to open his eyes. Sokka looks around his room, noticing the lack of everything he had done to make it feel more like home, already packed away and on the ship. The room has no trace of him in it, not anymore. Sokka sighs and lies back into the nondescript white sheets. 

It does bring him pain to realize that he will leave no lasting influence on Caldera City, but it is for the best, he reasons. Soon, the Fire Nation will be a bittersweet memory that Sokka can bring out on cold nights in the South Pole, but keep to himself. 

* * *

  
  


Zuko still appears at the docks to see him off. Sokka never expected anything less. Resplendent in his formal robes, Zuko gives a brief speech about how thankful he is for Sokka’s service and how he hopes to maintain good relations with the Water Tribe in the future. At the end of it, he draws Sokka into a tight hug and whispers an apology into his ear. Sokka relaxes against him and assures him of his forgiveness. 

Sokka’s eyes remain fixed on the small red figure for as long as possible as the ship draws away from the dock. 

He gets a warm reception at the coldest pole, and even Katara and Aang have come to visit. He greets them joyfully, with good-natured jokes about Aang growing taller than Sokka and has he grown tired of Katara yet? Hakoda leads them to the igloo and Sokka’s heart swells with pride as he notes how much the Southern Water Tribe has grown since he has been gone. Already, with the aid of water benders sent from the North, it is looking much more sturdy and robust than it had when Sokka had left all those years ago (but not too many) to find the Avatar a waterbending teacher. 

Sokka settles into days in the Pole naturally, waving off Aang and Katara as they leave once more, never staying in one place. Sokka absentmindedly contemplates what life could be like if he and Zuko were that free from obligation and duty, if they could roam the world, responsible for no one but Appa. Sokka envies them, but does not begrudge them their happiness. 

He takes to the cold and the long nights and hunting and his father’s duties like he’d never left, like he’d never changed at all. But the fact of the matter is, he _has_ changed. Sokka finds himself reminiscing more times than he can count, on how he feels snow beneath his feet instead of cool wood in the mornings, of what Zuko would say about this or that plan that Hakoda puts forward, of him and Zuko and their quiet nights. When Sokka looks up across the room now, it’s Hakoda’s face he sees. Despite how much he loves his father, it’s not the same. 

He misses the city, more than he thought he would. He misses shopping trips and fire blossoms and street vendors and spicy food and the bustle of _people_ , all around him. He misses the people he’d gotten to know in Caldera, and mourns the way that he feels like a stranger in his own home after all the time he’s spent away. He’s not the kid he was the last time he was here, and people don’t know how to act around him. They see him as somewhere between the young warrior he once was and the diplomat and commander he’s grown to be, and the two images clash so that no one is really sure of him. It feels isolated, to be in the South Pole again. He feels cut off from the world, trapped in their little bubble of igloos and hunting and sailing and sitting at home by the fire and missing the fire that Zuko would form in his hands. The ones in the South Pole don’t warm him in the same way, and now that he’s known Zuko’s fire for so long, anything else seems artificial.

The South Pole will always be his home, of that he has no doubt. But it’s not the only one he has, and more and more often he finds himself thinking of a different home, one with turtleduck ponds and red drapes and warm hands and golden eyes and curls of smoke rising in the air.

“Oh, Yue,” he sighs one night, staring up at the moon that shines so bright in the night sky, “What am I supposed to do?” He’s lying in the snow just outside of their settlement. Bundled up in his parka, the cold barely bothers him and there’s hardly any wind tonight. Besides, it’s spring; the weather is warming up.

The moon seems to glow in sympathy and Sokka can almost imagine Yue’s tinkling laugh echoing in his ears. He thinks of her and wonders if he would’ve considered leaving the South Pole for her. The answer comes immediately: of course. He’d been fifteen and suddenly in love for the first time. He’d have done anything to stay with her. Sokka has always been love’s fool. He wonders what Yue would tell him now, with her steadfast devotion to duty, but he also remembers how sad she’d been. How angry he’d been because she didn’t deserve to suffer to fix someone else’s mistakes, just because it was her duty. 

Sokka stares at the moon for the rest of the night, letting its gentle light wash over him. He still cannot look at the moon without that bittersweet pain.

  
  
  
  


Sokka had been so convinced that when he arrived in the South Pole, he would forget about the Fire Nation, that he has no idea what to do with himself now that he longs for the vibrant city life of Caldera City more than ever. All that tethers him here is his father and Gran Gran and the responsibility that has hung over his head his whole life that he will one day be Chief, and it will be his job to protect these people. But how can he be Chief when he feels apart from them, other, different? He cannot take back the changes he’s gone through in the years since he’s been home, nor would he if he could, but they serve to disconnect him from his people, to give him a sense that he will always long to be elsewhere.

Ever since he was a child, he’d known that one day, he would be Chief. He’s known it for so long, and it’s always been so certain, that he never stopped to wonder if he _wanted_ to be Chief. He’d certainly thought so on the day of black sun as he led their troops, and he’d certainly been thinking about how to apply his expertise as Ambassador to the Chiefdom while he’d been in the Fire Nation. But as much as Sokka relishes being a leader and being a diplomat, he realizes he’d much rather reside in a dynamic city like Caldera instead of remain in the South Pole with little contact outside of their Tribe. He misses the people, and the activity, and no small part of him misses Zuko desperately.

It’s no surprising revelation when one night he recites the list once more and realizes that no point on it really matters, and most of them are silly excuses anyways. He wears the red-lined tunic the next day.

“Sokka?” Hakoda asks, one cold arctic night, a month after Sokka’s return. “Are you listening?”

Sokka blinks and refocuses his gaze from where he’d been staring intently at a groove in the wall of their igloo. “Yeah, sorry. Just got a little distracted.”

Hakoda hesitates. “Are you… happy here?” At Sokka’s protest, he holds up his hands to calm him. “I know this is your home, and I’m so happy to have you here. But you seem… restless, lately.” 

He thinks of the day he left the South Pole, of Suki and her fans and the burning village and how the Kyoshi armor had fit against his body, of Yue’s trapped expression, of Piandao and of the troops on the day of black sun, of that day at the Boiling Rock, of watching Aang extinguish Ozai’s flame, and of the way Zuko had looked at him the night before he left.

“I know you must miss the Fire Nation.” At these words, Hakoda winces. “Wow, it still seems weird to say that. But times have changed, huh?”

At the naming of the vice, Sokka’s heart clenches and he knows already that his mind is made up.

“Actually,” he says, haltingly, “I…” He sighs. “No, not really,” he admits. He breathes out slowly. There. He’s said it. 

Unsurprised, Hakoda nods. Sokka draws strength from the understanding in his kind eyes, and yet again thanks the spirits that his father returned unharmed from the war.

“Dad, I love you, but I’ve changed too much, and I miss Caldera City more than I care to admit. If I were to go back… will you help me choose a replacement to be the next Chief?”

Hakoda exhales slowly. “Sokka, this is a big decision,” he warns. “But yes, if it will make you happy.”

Sokka leans back against the cool ice of the igloo in relief. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

The decision is not an easy one, and Sokka and Hakoda talk long into the night, figuring out logistics and making sure Sokka knows exactly what he’s doing. At the end of it, Sokka is no longer the next Chief and is instead merely the Ambassador to the Fire Nation of the Southern Water Tribe. Normally, this would require approbation from the Fire Nation, but something tells Sokka that Zuko will not have many objections.

Sokka decides to surprise Zuko by showing up without fanfare and hitching a ride with a trading vessel. This has nothing to do with his nerves about being received gladly. As an Ambassador, of course. He has no doubts that Zuko values his counsel, as an advisor and friend. But if Sokka is going to do this, he _is_ going to tell Zuko how he feels. He is relatively sure of the feelings being returned, but there is a bit of niggling doubt that will not go away.

Sokka packs much more than he did the first time he left home. He still packs his boomerang and summer clothes, but he also packs his snowshoes and parka and sleeping bag and the decorations that surround his igloo, as well as the Fire Nation mementos he never unpacked. He is going to take with him as much of himself as he can, and hope that Zuko chooses to accept him. 

Of course, this is when the Fire Nation ship arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> then everything changed when the fire nation ship arrived


	2. zuko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sokka: hmm i will go on a journey of self discovery and have some introspection  
> zuko: i am having several consecutive mental breakdowns!

_ “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” -- Mr. Knightley in Jane Austen’s Emma _

He is thirteen, and the last warm touch he feels is a searing pain on the side of his face. Fourteen, when he finally doesn’t flinch at Iroh’s hand on his shoulder. Sixteen, when Jet unknowingly steals his first kiss on a ferry. Seventeen, when Iroh finally pulls him into a hug and Zuko can feel forgiveness gushing out of him like a wound, and still seventeen when he finds himself in an abundance of affectionate gestures from his newfound friends. 

Zuko is eighteen when he kisses Sokka for the first time. 

They are celebrating Zuko’s coming of age (merely ceremonial, as he’s already Firelord with more responsibility than most other seventeen year olds would have known what to do with) and are staggeringly drunk in Zuko’s rooms. Zuko is amid the clouds with the knowledge that Suki and Sokka have broken up for good this time and six feet under buried in guilt about his elation. They sit on his vast bed, lost among the sinking pillows and blood red duvets, giggling like children. Zuko remembers how the moon shone on Sokka as if the moon herself loved him (and of course she did) and thinking “Why not?” and leaning forward across the bed to press wine-soaked lips to Sokka’s. For one, blessed, exalted moment, Sokka had returned the kiss, and Zuko reached new heights of happiness. Then Sokka had dissolved into giggles again, incoherently babbling about his boomerang.

Sokka never could hold his liquor. 

Zuko doubts that Sokka remembers, was even lucid at the time. But Zuko does, and it has plagued his thoughts ever since. Now, at twenty, Zuko still brushes his lips in memory of that empyrean night from time to time. He has nothing else to keep, no other memento of Sokka. Sokka, who will be leaving in two months, never to return. 

The night Sokka tells him, Zuko spends hours lying awake in bed, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. Does Sokka know? Does he hate him? Is Zuko simply not interesting to be around anymore? Does he spend too much time working and not enough with Sokka? But no matter how low Zuko’s self esteem is, he must succumb to the truth that Sokka was always going to leave, no matter what he does. Sokka’s words ring in his ears:  _ I’m going to be Chief one day… I have a responsibility! _

Zuko cannot blame Sokka for what he himself has chosen as well. Zuko cannot chase after Aang and Katara, or join Toph or Suki, or even follow Sokka to the South Pole as he longs to do. He has a duty to his nation to lead them into a new era and fix the mistakes of his forefathers. Sokka has a duty, just like him, and Zuko cannot take that away from him. Even if sometimes, he thinks that his feelings might be reciprocated, he cannot force Sokka to choose between love and duty, and he cannot delude himself into thinking that being Consort to the Firelord is an aspiration higher than Chief of the Southern Water Tribe.

Zuko resolves to give Sokka a proper sendoff, one that shows the gratitude and affection he feels for the tribesman. He tells Sokka he will provide the ship to send him away while they watch the turtleducks, but he doesn’t mention the selfish wish for the people of the Water Tribe to see the Fire Nation ship and remember that Sokka was  _ his _ for a while. 

Sokka rarely wears robes like Zuko does, instead opting for light tunics and pants like he had worn when they were all together and had the single minded focus of defeating Ozai. A simpler time. Sokka is always a bright spot of blue amidst the overwhelming reds and golds of the palace, but over time, he has given in to a few red accents on his clothes. Zuko notices the dark red lining on his tunic and smiles slightly. Sokka looks good in red.

Zuko feels himself relax as Sokka agrees to allow Zuko to send him off on one of his own ships. He knows, he knows, he  _ knows _ that this will not last forever, that it never could, but it doesn’t stop Zuko from leaning a little bit into Sokka and feeling his warmth pressed up against his side. Zuko focuses on the turtleducks as he muses on Sokka. Sokka, who was always going to leave, but whose absence Zuko can still not fathom. What Zuko can and cannot fathom, however, is not a concern in the workings of life, and Sokka will leave nonetheless. Zuko can simply resign himself to losing him and brace for the pain. The waiting is always the hardest part, Zuko finds, because it makes the losing all the worse.

* * *

  
  


Zuko doesn’t think he would have survived the first year of his reign without Sokka. Aside from the several foiled assassination attempts, it was Sokka who forced him to eat at least once a day, Sokka who dragged him away from meetings that went on until sunrise and held him down until he agreed to sleep, Sokka who assured him and reassured him a hundred thousand times that what he was doing was  _ good _ and that he was enough, that he was making things better. Zuko is a better person because of him, and he hopes he can retain enough of Sokka in his mind to stay that way. 

“Hey, bud. I brought dinner!” Sokka announces as he bursts into Zuko’s chambers. The guards know by now to let him in whenever he wants. He’s holding several plates of roasted komodo chicken and fire flakes. Zuko’s mouth waters, reminding him that he has not eaten all day. Sokka likes to experiment in the kitchen as a means of stress relief, and partly a means of creative outlet. Also, he suspects that Sokka’s delight in the vast palace kitchens stems in part from the lack of ingredients and proper food in their long journey to defeat Ozai. 

Zuko has always envied Sokka’s wide and carefree smiles, especially because he knows that Sokka has every reason to withhold them instead of distributing them freely to everyone he meets. He envies the ease with which Sokka creates them, he envies every recipient of them, and he envies the natural handsomeness with which they appear. Zuko knows that his own smiles are stretched and awkward when he tries, and they don’t happen naturally except for small, close-lipped quirks of the mouth. 

Zuko basks in the smile which Sokka bestows upon him now, like a firebender in the glow of the sun. He scoots over wordlessly to make room for Sokka to sit beside him on the bed, and brushes away papers that he’d been working on. The bed dips with Zuko’s heart as Sokka drops down next to him.

“So this time, I tried the lemon and ginger seasoning again, except I used more ginger. Oh, also, I asked one of the firebenders in the kitchen to cook it by shooting fireballs at it! Huh? Oh, no, it didn’t work. Burnt right to a crisp. No, this one is different. Yes, I cooked it in the oven like normal. I’m gonna get it one day! Hey, you should try it some time with me. Oh, come on, you know you’re my favorite firebender!” Sokka blathers on as Zuko listens, nodding along and interjecting at times. He loves to hear Sokka talk, to hear the clear timbre of his voice, the range of emotions that flow through every sentence. Sokka has a way of making anything sound interesting, be it his newest kitchen adventures, the little toys he tinkers with, or even boring legislature. 

Zuko takes a bite of fire flakes. It’s good; it has a strange aftertaste that’s not necessarily bad, just different from other fire flakes he’s eaten before. When he voices it to Sokka, Sokka responds that he tried adding some Water Tribe seasonings he’d found in the market the other day. The fire flakes turn to ash in his mouth. Must he always be reminded of Sokka’s imminent departure? Sokka probably missed these tastes. He’s probably been longing for home for a while now; Zuko just couldn’t see. Next month, Zuko will not have fire flakes that taste quite like this anymore. Sokka will not be here to make them.

Zuko contents himself with studying the way Sokka’s hair reflects the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the exact blue hue of his eyes, the design of his hair tie in the wolftail. The shape of his nose and the curve of his lips and the way his cheekbones are much more prominent now than they had been three years ago and the way the soft blue tunic looks against his skin and the brush of his eyelashes -- it’s more than Zuko can bear. He takes another bite of fire flakes and listens to Sokka talk and tries to capture the strange taste in his memory so he’ll have something to remember Sokka by.

* * *

  
  


Sokka is already there waiting for him when Zuko slips into the empty ballroom in a simple tunic and pants. Sokka has the scrolls laid out on the floor already and is studying them intently when Zuko crosses the room in silence to creep up behind him. He clears his throat quietly, and Sokka startles. 

“Dude, don’t do that. You’re so quiet, I swear, I need to get you a bell or something,” Sokka complains in a whisper. Zuko only shrugs apologetically in return. He doesn’t know quite how to act anymore; Sokka is leaving tomorrow. What does he do? Is he supposed to pretend like nothing is going to happen? Zuko’s never been a great liar. 

“What’s first?” he asks simply. Sokka shows him the dance scrolls for when the Firelord dances with an Ambassador, and Zuko frowns. 

“No,” he says, pulling out a different scroll from behind his back. Sokka quirks his head in confusion. 

“No?” Sokka asks.

Zuko unfurls the scroll, showing the dance steps and title.  _ Firelord and leader of different nation _ is written elegantly across the top. 

“Oh,” Sokka says quietly, eyes scanning the parchment and flicking up to Zuko nervously, “But I’m not Chief yet.”

Zuko shrugs awkwardly, unable to meet Sokka’s eyes. They stumble through the steps, over and over until they get it right, the way they always do. Nothing about this is new; the strange, faint glow that Sokka seems to always have when the moon shines on him, the pounding of Zuko’s heart in time with their steps, so loud he can hear it in his ears, the ethereal passing of time so quickly that it always surprises Zuko when the sun begins to creep through the windows, even though he is a firebender and always senses the dawn. 

No, the only thing new about this particular dance lesson is the way that every step feels like a goodbye, and every time they part, Zuko’s heart breaks a little more, and every time they come back together, he gets a burst of stupid, baseless hope that maybe, this time he’ll stay. Sokka’s touch heals him in the same way the venom from a snake is used to make an antidote. 

Parting from him that morning isn’t the hardest thing Zuko has ever had to do, but it’s somewhere up there, surprisingly high given the life he’s led. Zuko spends the rest of the day in a daze, so full of apprehension that he can barely think. When he’s finally ready for the ball, he looks at himself in the mirror and agonizes over his looks, of how he wants Sokka to remember him best. He’s starting to crack now, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with an entire night of the knowledge that Sokka is leaving tomorrow. He can feel himself slipping, going near out of his mind with the  _ waiting _ and the feeling like he’s on the edge of some huge precipice. He just wants it to be over with, even if it ends with his body below the cliff among the stones.

Zuko shouldn’t have worried about the way he looks, because no one in their right mind will look at him when Sokka is next to him. Though Sokka is achingly handsome in his Water Tribe blues (and formal ones at that), it gives Zuko pain to realize that the accents of red that had become commonplace in Sokka’s wardrobe are absent. It’s as if he is finally shedding all affiliation with the Fire Nation, and Zuko wants to do something stupid and reckless, like give Sokka the Crown Prince’s hairpin so people know that Sokka’s impact on the Fire Nation runs deep in its bones, and those of its Firelord. 

He doesn’t, of course. That would be like tacking a giant sign to Sokka’s forehead that reads  _ The Firelord is stupidly in love with me but I’m going to leave anyways! _ Instead, he focuses on making the rounds and making easy conversation: a difficult feat. He finds solace in Mai, who takes one look at him and drawls, “Agni, Zuko you look like shit.”

Zuko chuckles nervously. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

Mai rolls her eyes. “Just calm down. Do you want to spend your last night with him too freaked to remember?”

“No,” Zuko admits, “But you know I’m no good with calm and collected.”

Mai scoffs, but there is something kind in her eyes, if one knows where to look. As a childhood friend, Zuko can see it easily. “I hate to say this to your face, but… you’ve actually been getting a lot better at that. You can handle tonight, Firelord.” There is not a single ounce of respect in the way she says “Firelord,” but it warms Zuko’s heart nonetheless.

“Thanks, Mai,” he mumbles, sidling off to complete his rounds.

Inevitably, the first dance is called to begin, and Zuko takes Sokka’s hand with a heavy heart. He says goodbye with every move he makes, and he hopes Sokka can hear him. He cannot stop saying goodbye, because if he prolongs the goodbyes a little bit longer, then the departure itself is delayed a little bit longer as well. Zuko thinks he is doing admirably well until Sokka looks up at him and Zuko’s heart  _ breaks _ . He is going to lose this, and they will never be as close as they are now. He will see Sokka every few years if he is lucky, and never for very long. Zuko flexes the hand around Sokka’s waist as he removes it slowly, and swallows the lump in his throat. Sokka looks away. 

Zuko doesn’t remember much of the night after that; he tries his best to lose himself in the whirl of dancing and wine and food and people until he cannot tell up from down. He wakes to brown hair tickling his nose and something slipping away from under his arm. The hair under his nose does not stay long enough to induce a sneeze. The events of the previous night trickle into his brain like syrup and he remembers asking Sokka to stay. 

“My ship leaves at noon,” Sokka is saying as he pulls on his shoes. Zuko remembers begging him to  _ please, just this once, stay _ , and Sokka had  _ agreed _ , and he had fallen asleep happy for the first time in months, and now Sokka is going to leave again. It’s irrational and completely unjustified, but Zuko feels anger bubbling up in him. It’s much easier to classify this raging emotion in his chest as anger, rather than give it a much more dangerous name. Zuko can barely register himself telling Sokka to get out, but once he leaves, he collapses into the sheets and breathes in the familiar scent of the man who had been lying there and tries desperately to hold himself together.

* * *

  
  


Zuko feels shame in the place of anger as he says his final goodbye to Sokka on the dock. He whispers an apology into Sokka’s ear, but it is feeble and inadequate to his own ears. He hates that Sokka will be leaving like this, fresh with the memory of Zuko screaming at him. He wants to beg Sokka to stay for one more week, one more month, one more year, hey, how about forever? He says none of this and steps back. He lets go, even as he feels the slight tug of Sokka’s arms, reluctant to release him. He returns to the palace after the ship has left the dock and he does not watch it sail into the distance. He has an image to maintain.

He feels Sokka’s absence in every step of his day. Meetings are serious and business-like, with no lighthearted jabs or awful jokes. The rest of his council is subdued, and Zuko knows that they must miss him, too. Zuko was not Sokka’s only friend in the Fire Nation. He stops by the kitchens for a snack, and it too, is much too quiet. He works late into the night and falls asleep from exhaustion, only to be woken by his own stomach rumbling. 

Zuko finds ways to deal. He has the kitchen send meals to his rooms at specific times each day, tries to make his own jokes at meetings. (Horrible. Does not work in the slightest. He vows to never try this again.) Zuko feeds the turtleducks by himself, and closes the curtains at night so he cannot see the moon. He agonizes over whether it is too early to write, then tells himself that Sokka will write when he finds time. He is likely too busy; after all, it is only the first week of his homecoming. This is far from comforting as it means that Zuko will have to endure many, many more weeks like this one until Sokka comes back, and only for a short sojourn.

Uncle Iroh visits soon after Sokka leaves, as if he senses that Zuko is lonely. Uncle tells him stories of the tea shop, the odd quirks of the customers, the new flavors they have. Zuko appreciates it more than he can say. He also appreciates that Iroh is staying for a month, and that he does not have to worry about another loss quite so soon. He wishes his uncle all the best, he really does, but he does miss him. 

With Uncle Iroh comes the true emergence of spring in Caldera City, and Zuko takes a quiet pride in the sight of the fire blossoms blooming. All is peaceful in the city, finally. The wind brings with it hints of summer, and blows away all old things. Spring is a time of rejuvenation and regrowth, and Zuko sets upon his duties as Firelord with a renewed zeal, determined to make this spring another stepping stone for the Fire Nation to finally find its way to a true peace; not the mere cessation of military activity, but a total reworking of the government in order to better serve the people and right the wrongs of the past. Zuko breathes in the fresh air and makes a promise to do better, the same one he makes every year. 

Springtime is also the time when the celebrations in the Fire Nation begin, in preparation for summer. Zuko visits the markets and watches the fireworks and holds his own parties, too. Sokka is always missing, of course, but there is much to be seen and felt despite his absence. Zuko revels in the strength of his people, the way they don’t fear him as they feared his father. He visits the public gardens that used to be private, and a little girl gifts him with a flower crown. Zuko forgets to be self-conscious about his smile for once, and he smiles crookedly, showing his teeth. She grins back.

He brings Uncle to the market, and they stop by Sokka’s favorite street vendor who sells kebabs. Zuko forgoes his usual spicy order for Sokka’s old favorite of honeyed meat. The vendor takes notice of Sokka’s absence with a casual inquiry.

“Hey, where’s the Ambassador? Is this for him?” he asks, holding out three kebabs to him. Suddenly, it’s as if all the careful healing Zuko’s done in the past few weeks crumble, and Zuko is overwhelmed by a sudden longing that seizes him in his chest. His fingers curl around the kebab sticks protectively.

“He left,” Zuko mumbles. “He’s back with the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Oh,” the kebab vendor says, “That’s too bad. He was a nice sort of guy. Funny jokes.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says.

“Well, have a nice day, Firelord!” the vendor chirps cheerily. Zuko nods dumbly and leads Uncle away, handing Iroh his kebab.

Uncle Iroh raises an eyebrow. “The Ambassador?”

Zuko shrugs, feeling protective of the very mention of Sokka. “Sokka and I used to come here a lot,” he admits. “This was… his favorite.”

Uncle hums knowingly. “It is natural to miss a friend,” he notes. “Ambassador Sokka has been a crucial part of rebuilding the Fire Nation these past few years.”

Zuko feels himself getting angry and he doesn’t know why. He takes a bite of meat and blinks back sudden tears at the taste of it. “I know,” he says irritably.

“You know, it is not a crime to actively search for happiness,” Iroh comments. Zuko says nothing.

Uncle munches on his kebab thoughtfully, studying Zuko out of the corner of his eye. Zuko feels exposed under his knowing gaze and stares at his feet. As the silence drags on, Zuko feels compelled to explain himself, though he’s not quite sure why.

“He’s going back so he can be Chief,” he explains, “He was never going to stay. He… has a duty to his people, as do I.”

“It’s hard to believe you grew up in a royal household, with how rarely you ask for what you really want,” Iroh laments. “Are you just going to give up on Ambassador Sokka?”

“I’m not giving up on him!” Zuko shouts, drawing the attention of several townspeople. He takes a deep breath and wills himself to calm down. “I-- I’m just respecting his wishes. Sokka wants to go home, and I’m not going to stop him. He’s made his choice.”

“The absence of a decision is not a choice either way,” Uncle Iroh says sagely, or it  _ would  _ be sage advice if Zuko understood him. Sokka made the choice to go home; what other choice was there? “Now, come on! Why don’t we have a nice cup of tea when we get back to the palace.”

“Later,” Zuko promises, gripping the third kebab, “I have an appointment.”

* * *

  
  
  


The walk to the palace is a short one, and Zuko travels the long-memorized route to the set of rooms in the royal wing. He knocks gently on the doors.

“Come in,” the imperious voice calls from within. Zuko enters, and gives his sister a hesitant smile.

“How was therapy?” Zuko asks as he sits next to her, handing her the final kebab. Azula is sitting cross-legged on her bed, dressed in a comfortable, simple tunic. She shrugs. 

“Alright,” she answers. “We talked about you today. I still think you should get therapy, too.”

“We’ve been over this,” Zuko replies, “It’s a national security risk for me to be exposing my weaknesses to someone else.”

Azula scoffs. “And you’re afraid.” Zuko does not reply to her, having long since learned that he cannot contradict her without losing face.

She swivels around to glare at Zuko. “Speaking of which,” she says, “That Water Tribe boy is still gone.” Her voice is unmistakably accusing, as is the finger with which she points at Zuko.

“Yes,” Zuko says slowly, “That’s what happens when people leave to be Chiefs of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Azula bites into her kebab and frowns. “This is cold,” she complains. Zuko rolls his eyes and firebends a tiny mote of flame towards it. 

“Anyways,” Azula says around a mouthful of meat, “When are you going to go get him?”   
  
“What are you talking about?” Zuko asks.

Azula sighs impatiently, like she always does when Zuko is too slow to understand how her mind works. “You want him back here, right? So  _ when are you going to go get him _ ?”

“I… I don’t want to take him away from his people. It’s his dream to be Chief. How could I take that away from him? How could I presume to think that I’m more important than that?” Zuko mumbles, staring at the ground.

Azula leans back and folds her arms, an unimpressed frown twisting her mouth. “I’m going to gloss over your very obvious self-esteem issues because I don’t have time for that right now. Zuzu, listen. I am going to ask you a very simple question, and I  _ expect _ an answer. What do you want?”

Zuko blinks in confusion. “What does that mean? What do I want?”

“What do you  _ want, _ Zuko?” she asks exasperatedly.

“I- I-“

“Why is it so hard for you to articulate one tiny little thing?”

“Azula, I—“

“What do you want?”

“I-“

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” Azula screams, blue fire bursting out of her fists that are pointed at the ground. 

“I WANT SOKKA TO COME BACK! FUCK! I WANT SOKKA TO BE MY CONSORT ONE DAY!” Zuko yells, clutching his head in his hands as his scar pulses dully with pain. 

Azula takes a deep breath and extinguishes the flames, then clears her throat.

“There,” she says primly, “Was that so hard?”   
  


“Yes!” Zuko shouts. “Yes, because it’s not going to happen! I don’t always get what I want, Azula, unlike you!”

Azula huffs out an offended laugh. “Do you think I  _ wanted _ to be groomed as heir to a despotic tyrant and have my sense of empathy broken into a thousand tiny pieces that I have spent the last few years putting back together? But I’ll let that slide -- you clearly have more prominent issues to work out.”

“Fuck, sorry Azula, I-- There’s nothing to work out!” Zuko says heatedly, “It’s settled. He’s gone.”

Azula scoffs. “Aren’t you going to give Sokka a  _ real _ choice? You haven’t even asked him to stay, you just assume you know what he wants because you’re an arrogant, self-deprecating ass! You’re Firelord now! If you won’t reach out and take it, at least  _ ask  _ for what you want!”

“I’m scared, okay!” Zuko admits in a roar. 

“So?” Azula asks, equally as loud. “You’re going to let him slip through your fingers because you’re  _ scared _ ? How long have you been Firelord? It’s not a crime to ask for things, idiot!” she yells, unknowingly echoing Iroh.  _ You know, it’s not a crime to actively seek happiness. _

Azula exhales frustratedly. “Ugh,” she groans, “Why is my brother so stupid?”

“Why do you care so much if Sokka comes back anyways?” Zuko mutters.

“Because I care about you, stupid!” Azula hisses.

Zuko blinks. “Oh,” he says dumbly. 

The prominent royal family blush appears on Azula’s cheeks. “You deserve happiness, Zuzu. So go and ask for it.”

Zuko’s heart starts beating fast as he forms a plan in his mind. “Okay,” he says around the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

Azula straightens, pleased smirk crawling across her face. “Good,” she proclaims. “Now, get out. I’m going to do my evening meditation, and if I miss it, the next person who comes in here gets a fireball to the face.”

Zuko gives her an exaggerated bow as he makes his retreat, and walks back to his rooms with a hazy mind that whirls with excitement and anxiety.

Is he really going to do this? Is he going to go to the South Pole and arrogantly ask Sokka to return with him? It goes against everything he’s told himself for months, even years. For once, he’s going to ask for what he wants and brace himself against the consequences, whatever they might be. Mostly though, he just wants Sokka to know; he can’t hold it inside any longer. 

Zuko takes his personal sailing vessel out, dresses himself as sharply as he can. No more fear, no more hiding. All of the Water Tribe will see him arrive, including Sokka. Especially Sokka. The bright blaze of the Fire Nation flag and the vivid red paint of the ship will make sure of that. He clumsily forms a speech in his head on the ride, practically tearing his hair out trying to figure out what to say. He wishes he had spoken to Uncle Iroh longer, so he would know. Even Azula would have an assured, confident speech ready, and Zuko wastes time worrying about not having a speech, then realizes what he’s done and worries more.

His heart leaps into his throat when they dock and Zuko can see Sokka sprinting to meet them. 

“Zuko?!” Sokka exclaims, “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you,” Zuko blurts the moment Sokka is within his sights. 

Sokka’s face turns grave and he nods. “It’s not-- bad,” Zuko assures him. “Well-- I don’t know if you-- nevermind. Can we please just talk?”

Sokka leads him to the biggest igloo in the village, and Zuko can feel eyes on him from everywhere, burning holes into his back. He follows Sokka into the igloo and takes a seat on the ground. Sokka looks at him expectantly. Zuko clears his throat awkwardly, his courage wavering now in the face of the event itself. Still, he presses forwards in the hope that finally telling Sokka to his face, though he must already know, will alleviate the burning flame of hope that refuses to go out. If there is one thing he must do, it is assure Sokka of how ardently he adores him. 

“Sokka, I--” here, his voice cracks embarrassingly, and Zuko clears his throat once more to start over. “I don’t--” he huffs angrily. “I don’t know how to--” 

Sokka waits patiently, and his calming presence serves to bolster Zuko’s spirits. “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” Zuko begins, the first full sentence since he’d started. Despite the desperate fear of how Sokka might react, Zuko keeps his eyes steadily fixed on blue ones. “I know you have-- I know your life is here, your family is here, and that one day you’ll be Chief and that it’s something you’ve always wanted. A-And I know that Caldera City is nowhere near cold enough for you, and that we aren’t surrounded by a cold sea, and we don’t have sea prunes, and that-- (here he stomps his boots, as if to emphasize his point) that we don’t have the crunch of fresh snow, but--” Zuko swallows the rest of his failings. “I want to offer you a different life all the same. I can’t do anything about the weather, but we can make as many trips to Ember Island as you want when you miss the sea, and I’ll order sea prunes in fresh every day, and uh, that’ll help the economy of your tribe, and I’ll burn lots of things for you because ash kind of feels like snow under your feet -- wait, that’s probably not a good idea, I--” 

Zuko takes a deep breath, watching it curl in the cold air. “I-- Uncle said that I should seek happiness, and Azula says that I should ask for what I want and what I want is— Actually, she said to just take it but that’s not important right now— Well, the truth of it is, that I-- you must already know, but I -- I love you, Sokka. And I have for years and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same way or that you would, but it wouldn’t be enough, but-- but I couldn’t let you leave without telling you that, if you wanted it, you could have a life with me in the Fire Nation.”

Sokka is staring at him with wide blue eyes, mouth slightly ajar. Zuko wipes clammy hands on his robe and hopes to every god he knows that the look in Sokka’s eyes is one of affection.

“Zuko, you great, dumb, idiot,” Sokka breathes with all the loving affection of a man disgustingly in love, “Look around you. I’ve packed already; I’m coming home with you.”

Zuko breathes out slowly, taking in the interior of the igloo. There is little present, though Zuko would have assumed that it’s just how it is if he had taken time to look around when he’d entered. As it was, he’d had other things on his mind.

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Sokka agrees, with a hint of a smile. 

“But the Chiefdom--”

“Will go to someone else,” Sokka finishes. “Listen, I’ve thought about it, and-- I miss the city. I miss all the people and activity and the South Pole just doesn’t fit anymore. It’ll always be my home, but… Zuko, you’re my home, too. I’ve missed you so much and--”

“Fuck,” Zuko breathes, and he all but falls into Sokka. Their lips meet clumsily, but all Zuko can sense is how warm Sokka’s lips are despite the chill around them. It’s warm and wet and definitely sloppy and Zuko’s head is at an odd angle and he’s sprawled across Sokka’s lap but it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. The brief taste he’d had two years ago is nothing compared to this, the wispy memory dissolving in the warmth of Sokka’s mouth. His hands fist in Sokka’s thick coat and pull him closer and he shifts to fit properly into Sokka’s lap. Sokka gasps, a puff of hot air directly into Zuko’s mouth, and it makes his blood run hot. Sokka is definitely kissing him back at this point and Zuko’s head is spinning with euphoria and the impossibility of it all and  _ fuck, this is really happening— _

Sokka breaks the kiss with a loud  _ smack!  _ and pulls back, breathing heavily, and Zuko’s stomach swoops.

“Wait,” he gasps. “You didn’t— how did you get here?”

Zuko stares dumbly. “Huh?” he asks, brain still sluggish and flooded with a heady euphoria. 

“How are you suddenly in the South Pole?! And— and why did you wait so long? And—“

“Um, I’m the Firelord and I have boats and shit, and I’m stupid and Azula had to talk some sense into me. Uncle Iroh tried, but I have a thick skull.” Zuko lists off on his fingers. “Can we go back to kissing now? That was great. I liked that.”

Sokka laughs quietly. “Sorry, I just— can’t quite wrap my head around this. You’re  _ here _ and I just—“ he reaches up to brush his thumb across Zuko’s cheek, lightly touching the scar. Zuko closes his eyes and leans into his touch like a cat. Sokka’s hand is rough and warm and Zuko wants it everywhere. He sighs openly.

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees softly. He guides Zuko’s head back to his own and meets his lips once more. Zuko melts into him, hands sliding up to the back of his neck to pull him closer. Zuko wants Sokka to be closer, closer, until Zuko can devour him whole and Sokka will never leave again.  _ Stay, stay, stay _ , he pleads with his whole body. 

Sokka does not seem averse to this plan, leaning into Zuko wherever he leads. This closeness is everything Zuko has been craving for years and he feels his soul set alight. This time, finally, Sokka will stay. 

On the ride back home, Zuko smells the fresh sea air of spring as the ship enters the port. He smiles, hand in Sokka’s. Spring has come to Caldera in full, it seems, and it means to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to just be pining and then it evolved??  
>  anyways thanks for reading! long live zukka nation  
> also please scream at me with headcanons about azula in therapy... i just want her to be happy


End file.
